


a lot of little rain

by stevenstamkos



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Tampa Bay Lightning, Western Hockey League
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 01:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14202276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevenstamkos/pseuds/stevenstamkos
Summary: Brett wears a ring on the fourth finger of his right hand. It wasn’t there last year. Brayden can’t seem to stop staring at it.(or: Five times Brayden put a ring on Brett's finger, and one time he didn't.)





	a lot of little rain

**Author's Note:**

> For those unfamiliar, Brayden was drafted in 2014 and Brett in 2016, and both from the Moose Jaw Warriors, so Brayden is 19 at the start and Brett is 17. And the ring is real. Brett does wear a black ring on the fourth finger of his right hand.
> 
> Title from "American Mary" by The National

**1.**

**October 15, 2015**

**Calgary Hitmen 2 – 10 Moose Jaw Warriors**

Brett wears a ring on the fourth finger of his right hand. It wasn’t there last year. Brayden can’t seem to stop staring at it.

It’s black, solid and heavy-looking, and Brett has the habit of twisting it around his finger when he’s bored or nervous.

He does it in the locker room when he puts it back on after every game, and he does it on the bus and during parties and while they’re watching tape with the team.

He does it when he’s hanging out in Brayden’s billet room, homework on his knees and pencil in his hand and twirling away at the ring like it’ll give him the answers. (It doesn’t. Brayden’s the one who gives him the answers because, you know. Been there, done that. Quinton used to help Brayden out when Brayden was still in school, so it’s almost like doing his little brother a favor. And besides, Brayden likes Brett.)

Brayden is watching Brett twist that ring around, well into hour four of their bus ride to Calgary, the sun throwing warm October light over Brett and the history reading that he’s pretending he’s doing. Brett isn’t good at pretending.

He’s only sitting in the back—the _very_ back, where the fourth year vets sit—because Brayden let him. It’s roomier back here. In another hour, Brayden is gonna have to kick him back to his seat further up the bus; just because Brayden’s captain doesn’t mean he can just break those unspoken rules, let Brett jump a few years and have a real seat in the back. Can’t show favoritism like that.

But for now, he stretches out over his seat so he can lean over and poke Brett.

“Yeah?” Brett says, looking up too-fast from his reading.

“You wanna play?” Brayden asks. He holds up his Nintendo.

Brett doesn’t even stop to think, just snaps his history textbook shut and immediately dives into his bag for his own DS. As he’s picking a game card, Brayden stares at the band of black across his ring finger, studying it.

“What’s with the ring?”

“Quinton gave it to me before he left for Florida this year. He said he doesn’t need luck to stick with the Panthers, so he wanted me to have it.”

“Oh. Cool. So what do you wanna play?” Brayden shifts closer and turns on his DS, and that’s the end of the ring discussion.

 

They beat Calgary easily, two goals and two assists for Brayden, one goal and two assists for Brett. It feels great to bounce back after losing to Kootenay last night. Just one more game in Edmonton, and then they can get back to Moose Jaw.

“They’re gonna want you for the post-game after this one,” Brett says when he gets to his stall, sitting heavily next to Brayden.

“You’re one of my A’s now; you can do it,” Brayden replies. He strips his jersey off and chucks it in the bin, turning to look at Brett.

The A stitched to his chest is new this season, too. They’re only a few games into the season, but it looks good on Brett, looks natural. Like he was meant to be a leader.

Brett is already halfway out of his jersey, and as he hangs up his shoulder pads, he digs into his bag for his phone. He flashes Brayden a grin. “Yeah, but they love talking to the captain after a big win. Everyone loves you, man.”

Brayden only shrugs, agreeing silently. He’s bent over picking at the laces of his skates when something small and black bounces across the floor in front of him, and he reaches out and picks it up.

It’s Brett’s ring. Probably fell out of his bag when he pulled out his phone. Brayden holds onto it for a second, feeling its cool and slightly heavy weight, and then he turns back to Brett and says, “Hey, Howdy. You dropped this.”

Brett’s eyes widen just a bit, and he reaches for it—right hand, tan after the summer except for a band of pale skin on his fourth finger, and Brayden grabs his hand without thinking.

“Here, I can—” He slips the ring onto Brett’s finger, pushing it down until it’s resting over that bit of pale skin, the ring going down easy.

It’s stupid and kind of surreal, the fact that Brayden just did that. He knows that Brett doesn’t put the ring on until after his shower. He knows that it was probably a little weird to put his buddy’s ring on for him. He knows…a lot of things about this are weird, and he isn’t sure why he did it anyway.

Brett is very, very still. Brayden is still holding his hand, seated in his stall, Brett standing over him, and they don’t move until Huntsy says loudly, “Aww, looks like you two are married now.”

And for some reason Brayden can’t figure out, Brett is blushing. Brett doesn’t blush much, doesn’t get bothered by the chirping ever, really. But he’s peeking at Brayden now, pink in his cheeks, and his voice is lower than normal when he says, “Thanks, Pointer.”

“No problem,” Brayden says, and drops his hand.

Brett doesn’t take it off when he heads for the showers, and when he gets on the bus and settles into his seat—his actual seat, halfway down the bus—Brayden sees him twisting it again, around and around his finger. He’s still twisting away at it when Brayden walks past him, heading for his own seat at the very back.

 

**2.**

**January 9, 2016**

**Moose Jaw Warriors 6 – 2 Saskatoon Blades**

Brayden’s first game back after World Juniors is at home in Moose Jaw. They beat Saskatoon easily, and he gets first star after another three-point night. It feels good after finishing sixth in Helsinki and letting down his country.

Brett is waiting for him in the locker room when he comes down the tunnel, all wild, sweaty curls under his snapback and huge smile, obviously excited after the game. His face lights up when he sees Brayden.

“It’s so fucking good to have you back,” he says, eyes laughing, eyes on Brayden, and Brayden can’t help but smile back so hard that it hurts his cheeks, feeling the joy get trapped in his throat somewhere.

This is what he needed after standing on the ice in Helsinki a week ago, fighting back the tears.

This is exactly what he needed: a good win and his teammates around him, everything exactly as it should be.

He reaches for Brett, and this is easy now, taking the ring from him and feeling its solid weight for a second before sliding it onto Brett’s finger. Brett’s hand is warm and a little sweaty and a little rough from being wrapped around a stick every day, and he smooths his thumb over Brayden’s knuckles.

“Back to business, eh Pointer?” Huntsy says as he passes by on the way to the showers, and Brayden doesn’t let go of Brett’s hand, not yet.

It’s Brett who says, “Yeah.” He squeezes Brayden’s hand once and pulls back.

Huntsy’s nearly out of earshot now, but his “Okay, lovebirds!” still reaches them.

The jokes about them being married are getting pretty old now, and they’re more supportive than anything. At first, there had been chirps, teammates starting with “Dearly beloved” (or “Dearly _bro_ -loved”) every time they saw Brayden reaching for Brett’s hand. That had died out though, as the season went on. Maybe the team don’t get why Brayden and Brett do it, but they’re used to seeing the little post-game tradition after half a season of it.

Brayden isn't sure why he and Brett kept doing it either, after the first time. It just happened.

A part of him had missed this during World Juniors, he thinks. Brayden has plenty of game-day routines, a pre-game nap and meal that he never misses, and he’s not nuts about completing all of them like some of the guys are, but he _likes_ sticking to his traditions whenever he can. And this post-game routine with Brett—It’s special. Having Brett there, the smoothness of Brett’s ring and the roughness of Brett’s hand after every win or loss—Brayden had missed it, for the one month he was gone.

“I really am glad you’re back,” Brett says again. “Felt weird not having someone put my ring on for me after the game.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I just never realized how nice it is until you were gone, I guess.”

There _is_ something nice about doing it. It’s a good routine. For Brayden, sliding that ring on Brett’s finger after every game feels like things clicking back into place. It feels like settling down after the game, like coming back to earth.

It also makes Brett smile, and that—That almost feels better than any win.

 

**3.**

**April 15, 2016**

**Brandon Wheat Kings 7 – 3 Moose Jaw Warriors**

They’ve been sitting in their stalls for a few minutes now, both showered and back in their game day suits, and Brett is sitting hunched over with his hands cupped together in his lap. It makes him look smaller than he is, which shouldn’t even be possible because Brett is—big. He’s big, he takes up space, and he’s not _loud_ really, but he makes himself heard.

Brayden wants to reach over, touch his shoulder and ask him if he’s okay, but he knows he’s not. None of them are okay, really.

The sounds of the post-game locker room—the boys talking to each other and moving around, the showers dripping because someone didn’t turn it off right, the reporters packing up, all of it feels like background noise. They have to leave the dressing room and get to the bus soon, start the long drive back to Moose Jaw.

“Did you want me to…?” Brayden asks softly.

Brett rolls his ring around in his hand, not putting it on or handing it over. He looks down at it.

“Howdy?” Brayden says. And then, “Brett?”

“We should’ve…” Brett starts.

“Brettsy, it’s over.”

“I know,” Brett says. “I just…” He looks at Brayden, sharply now, and blinks hard. “How are you so cool with it?”

“My first three seasons in Moose Jaw, we didn’t even make the playoffs. Just getting to round two was pretty insane.”

“But it’s over now, for you.”

“Yeah.” Brayden nods. “I know.”

He’d worn his Warriors jersey for the last time today, and he’d known this might be it, heading into an elimination game down 3-1 in the series. He’d known when they were down three goals with two minutes left, and he’d known when Nolan Patrick put the puck in the empty net to widen the hole. He’d definitely known in the handshake line. Still, Brett saying it out loud makes it feel even more real.

He won’t lie and say that he’s not excited for Tampa or Syracuse. The pros are a huge step up from major junior. Still…

Brayden looks at Brett’s face, the sadness in his eyes, the flat line of his mouth, and he wants to reach over and smooth it all away. He’ll miss this. Not the long bus rides, but he’ll miss the boys, his boys that he isn’t the captain of anymore. He’ll miss being a Moose Jaw Warrior. He’ll miss Brett, and he knows Brett will miss him.

“You’re not coming back next season and, I don’t know.” Brett shrugs, mouth tilting up into a half-smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He stares back at the ring in his hand. “No more little tradition, I guess.”

“If that’s what you’re worried about, I can come back to Moose Jaw next season and put your ring on for you. Can’t promise I can make it back for every game, but…”

The joke does its job. When Brett smiles again, it’s a lot nicer and more genuine. “You gonna come on our roadies with us too?”

“Only to division teams. I’m not getting on the bus with you for fourteen hours.”

Brett nods and hands over his ring. “Okay. Make it a good one to end on.”

Brayden doesn’t want to make it weird, but he wants to take it slow. This is the last time he’ll put this ring on Brett and have it _mean_ what it’s always meant: end of the game, til the next one. There was always a next one. Until now.

He slides the ring onto Brett’s finger, and then he gets the sudden urge to raise Brett’s hand to his lips and like, kiss his fingers. Which would definitely be cheesy and weird and not at all bros. Things with Brett have always toed the line a little, but this would definitely be crossing it.

Brett clenches his hand into a fist, catching Brayden’s fingers up tight, and Brayden looks up.

He looks at Brett, at the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he says, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Brett says. ”Let’s go home.”

Brayden rubs his thumb over the band of metal on Brett’s finger, and when he lets go, it feels like he’s letting go of more than just his hand.

 

**4.**

**June 24, 2016**

**NHL Draft, Buffalo, New York**

Quinton Howden sees Brayden first, and he fights his way through the crowd, throwing a big arm around Brayden’s shoulders. “Pointer,” he nearly shouts, right in Brayden’s ear. “27th overall! Can you believe it?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing!” Brayden says.

In his pocket, he’s got his hand clenched around something small and smooth, and warmed now from his body heat. Brayden has been overheating, a little. It’s been a nerve-wracking day.

Quinton drags him along, down the packed hallways. “Come on, Brett’s done with his press conference already. I know you probably wanna see him and congratulate him.”

Brayden hasn’t seen Brett since this morning, when they split—Brayden to the back of the room, in the guest seating, and Brett to the front near the stage where the top-ranked prospects and their families sit. Before they split, they hadn’t known what would happen today. And now—

“Brayden!”

Brett throws his arms around Brayden, and he’s too tall to press his face to Brayden’s shoulder, but he tries to anyway. He smells like cologne and aftershave and the brand new jersey on his chest, a deep blue. Brayden barely feels himself letting go of the ring in his pocket, wrapping his arms around Brett instead and digging his fingers into the fabric of the jersey.

He’s smiling so fucking hard, can’t think straight. He’s dizzy with this.

Brett pulls back, but he’s still got his hands on Brayden, and he is lit up like Brayden’s never seen him before. “When you said you talked to Lightning scouting—”

“I didn’t know if they’d really take you,” Brayden says. The words tumble out of him. “I knew they were interested and were scouting you heavily, but I didn’t want to hope they’d really draft you. And when they asked me who they should take today—You’re the only one I thought of. I gave it my best shot, tried to make something stick. Guess it worked.”

For a long, long minute, Brett doesn’t say anything, just holds Brayden at arm’s length and stares at his face like he’ll find the secrets to the universe hidden there or something. He can’t seem to stop smiling, either.

“Brayden,” he says, voice rough, “this is the best day of my life. Dream come true.”

And then Brayden has to hug him again.

 

Back at the hotel, away from the eyes of Quinton and the rest of Brett’s family, Brayden pulls out Brett’s ring and tries to give it back. “Looks like your good luck charm worked,” he says. “First round. But Quinton went three spots ahead of you.”

“Yeah, he’ll give it to me later I’m sure. I don’t care though. Fucking _Tampa_ , man. God, I didn’t wanna hope, but— _Tampa_.”

He doesn’t move to take back the ring, and Brayden has to nudge his hand with his own, trying to press the ring into Brett’s palm. Brett stares at it, and then he offers Brayden his right hand, palm-down, the way he did after every game all season.

Brayden can’t hide his surprise fast enough, and Brett sees.

“I just thought, since we’re gonna play together again, in the NHL, we could keep doing our little thing…?” He looks at Brayden hopefully.

The answer is so fucking easy. Easiest in the world.

Brayden takes Brett’s hand and slides the ring onto that familiar spot on his finger, gives it one twist around just because. He looks up into Brett’s eyes. Brett is standing really close, and he’s smiling, a small smile now. It’s different than his post-draft smile, the huge thing taking over his face while he was onstage and during his interviews. This smile is just lifting the corners of his mouth, giving Brayden a flash of teeth, but it’s mostly in his eyes, Brett’s green eyes that Brayden’s stared into hundreds of times, and now Brayden can’t breathe.

“Thanks, Bray,” Brett says, low and husky-sweet.

There’s no air in Brayden’s lungs, so he has no idea how he manages to get out, “Not a problem…Brettsy.”

Brett laughs at the nickname, and he finally looks away, and something in Brayden unfreezes. It’s enough for him to ask a question he didn’t earlier, when there were more important questions on his mind.

“Why’d you give it to me though?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean. It wasn’t a problem. Just wondering why you asked me to hold onto it and not Quinton or your sister or your parents.”

Brett only shrugs, flushed, happy. “I just hoped.”

 

**5.**

**September 20, 2017**

**Carolina Hurricanes 3 – 4 Tampa Bay Lightning**

Playing on NHL ice is something that Brayden doesn’t think he’ll ever get over, even after 68 games of it. Playing on NHL ice with one of his best buddies, even during the pre-season, isn’t something that he’ll ever forget.

They beat the Canes, and sure this isn’t an NHL game that counts, but it’s an NHL game with Brett on the bench next to him again, a crowd in the stands, a different team on the other side. It’s just a taste of what’s coming—maybe this year, maybe next year, maybe the year after. The important thing is that it’s coming.

Their stalls aren’t next to each other in the visitor’s locker room, but Brett hangs around Brayden anyway, sweaty in his shoulder-pads with his jersey balled up in his hand. He’s got a red helmet mark near his hairline, and his curls are everywhere.

Brayden doesn’t reach up and smooth them down, even though he wants to.

Brayden wants a lot of things, when it comes to Brett. He’s used to it now.

“What are you smiling about?” Brett asks.

“You know, just glad the season’s about to start again.”

Brayden turns to his stall and shrugs out of his shoulder pads, peeling his shirt off of himself too. As he does, he sees _Point_ and the familiar lightning bolt on his name plate, right at eye level, a reminder that he’s made it.

He puts his gloves and helmet on the shelf and hangs up his shoulder pads, and he’s turning back around and taking a seat in his stall so he can take off his skates when he sees Brett still hovering there. Waiting.

“Oh,” Brayden says. He holds out his hand.

They haven’t done this since the draft last year. Development camp and the prospect tournament, both of them had involved games, but neither of them had felt as real as this. And sure this isn’t real either, but.

Brett drops the ring in Brayden’s hand, and then he wavers for a second before dropping to one knee in front of Brayden.

“More comfortable than standing in skates,” he admits. There’s color in his cheeks, and he looks strangely guilty.

He’s right. With the skates, and with Brayden sitting, Brett is uncomfortably taller than him. In Moose Jaw, they’d always done their routine while standing, except for that first time. Here in Tampa, Brett is kneeling, and Brayden feels himself flush hotly with a thought when he takes in Brett on one knee in front of him, and a ring in Brayden’s hand.

He slips the ring onto Brett’s finger quickly, so he doesn’t overthink it.

The boys definitely don’t miss this. They’ve been moving around the room, chatting and getting undressed, and the first to spot them immediately start chirping.

“Getting married already, Pointer?” Vladdy asks, laughing.

Footer is brand new here, and he’s looked like a deer in the headlights the whole time he’s been in Tampa, but he’s WHL and everyone in the Dub just sort of knows, even after Brayden graduated. “That’s just what Howdy and Pointer always do.”

“Awww, cute.” That’s Mitchell Stephens. He’s wearing a huge grin.

J.T. Brown says, “Lots of marriages in Tampa recently, don’t you think? Stammer and Heddy this summer, for starters, and now Pointer and Howdy are tying the knot…”

Vladdy sighs playfully. He says a Russian word and then, “But they grow up so fast.”

“I’m 21,” Brayden points out. “Vasy has me beat.”

Conch shakes his head. “But Howdy’s 19, so as a pair, you’re still the youngest newlyweds.”

“Wait, but Vasy got married at 19 too, so that’s debatable.” Vladdy frowns, and the conversation veers off topic to the Lightning goalie.

All this talk about marriage and newlyweds is making Brayden feel even more flustered, so he shuts up and just focuses on unwinding the tape around his socks. Brett has gotten up and has gone back to his stall, and Brayden doesn’t look around the room, doesn’t look at anything but the laces on his skates as he undoes the knots.

“You okay?” Slater asks, next to him.

Brayden nods. “Yeah. Used to it. That was our post-game tradition back in Moose Jaw.”

“Cool. It’s kinda cute. You looked a little uncomfortable though, so.”

“Nah, the chirps are nothing. Don’t worry about it, Koeks.”

The chirps really are nothing, and the boys have lost interest already, so that by the time Brayden is dressed and ready to head out, no one’s even bringing it up anymore. It’s easy enough then to wait at the door and join Brett when he leaves the room.

Brayden knows the way from the Canes' visitor’s room to the bus that’ll take them back to the hotel. Brett walks at his side.

“You good?”

Brett doesn’t slow when he answers. “Just soaking it all in. You only play your first pre-season game once, you know.”

“And it was a good win tonight.”

“Yeah.” The smile that Brett shoots Brayden is that special one, that curl of his mouth that Brayden is so, so used to. “I’m really glad it got to be with you, Pointer. And with the Lightning. I’m just really happy with everything, you know?”

And Brayden should say, “I know,” but he puts an arm around Brett instead and pulls him down to him, slowing enough to press his face to Brett’s for a moment. Brett is warm and he’s so close to Brayden now, wide green eyes and brown lashes and his lips parted on an unspoken word. He looks caught, and Brayden doesn’t want to let go.

“It’ll be even better when you play your first NHL game,” Brayden says, Brayden promises.

He doesn’t know when it’ll happen, but Brayden doesn’t mind. He can wait for Brett. This is just the beginning.

 

**+1.**

**November 2, 2018**

**New York Rangers 1 – 3 Tampa Bay Lightning**

It’s different, seeing Brett in a Rangers jersey. Brayden had gotten used to imagining him in Tampa Bay blue and white, lightning bolt on his chest. That’s what was supposed to happen.

They haven’t seen each other since Brayden’s last visit to Moose Jaw last spring. It had been a short visit, and Brett had been quiet and kind of distant, focusing on hockey, always on the ice when Brayden was around. Captain duties, he’d said. He’d been like that a lot since the trade, texting less, FaceTiming less.

And before that visit, they haven’t seen each other since the pre-season last year, Brett’s first pre-season. He’d still been with the Lightning, then. It had all been so clear, then.

(They still do text though. Brayden had FaceTimed Brett after his first game and his first goal, and Brett had seemed happy, in New York. He’d shown Brayden his hotel room where he’s staying until he knows if he’s staying up for good, and he’d shown off his first goal puck in its frame and the takeout cartons piled on his table.

They’re okay…sort of. Maybe that’s the problem—that they’re just a shade off okay, a beat off-step.)

Brayden plays his game and doesn’t look at the Rangers bench, and he doesn’t see Brett except when he’s on the ice in Rangers blue.

He does his post-game as quickly as he can, rushes through his shower and is still half-wet when he puts his suit back on.

Brett is waiting for him outside the room. He’s been there a while, done quicker with no post-game media responsibilities as a rookie. His hair looks damp though, and his shirt collar is rumpled. He obviously dressed in a hurry.

“Hey, Pointer,” Brett says.

His hug is just as nice as Brayden remembered. He still uses the same soap as he did in Moose Jaw.

As he pulls back, Brayden sees something black flash on Brett’s finger. “You don’t need me to put your ring on for you?” He gestures at the ring clearly sitting on Brett’s finger, almost hoping that Brett forgot.

But Brett would never forget. He didn’t forget in Tampa, and he wouldn’t forget now. Still, him showing up with the ring already on feels like a message, to Brayden. It had always been their thing, even beyond Moose Jaw. Brett putting his ring on himself, while Brayden was _here_ , in the building with him—It feels deliberate.

He pushes the hurt down and tries to play it cool. “It’s cool if you don’t need me to—”

Brett steps closer, lets his voice go softer, even though they’re alone. “Actually, I was thinking that we could start a new post-game tradition, since we’re both in the NHL now.”

Both in the NHL, and on opposing teams for the first time. But at least Brett still wants—

Brayden nods. “Okay, yeah. What were you thinking?”

“Maybe…” Brett takes a deep breath, and then he leans down and kisses Brayden.

 

“I didn’t think—”

“I wanted to. For the longest time.” Brett’s breath is coming out shaky, but in a good way, Brayden thinks. Like, in a kissed-breathless kind of way. “I really wanted to, for like, _years_ , Bray. And last year, during the pre-season, I think you wanted it too—”

“I did—”

“But I fucking, uh I don’t know, I chickened out, and then I was back in Moose Jaw and the trade deadline, and—yeah.”

Brayden wants to kiss him again, so he does.

He has to tilt his head up to reach Brett’s mouth. Five inches isn’t exactly nothing, and Brayden’s always been conscious of his size. But Brett makes it easy, has always made it easy, god, Brayden was fucking stupid for not seeing it earlier, and Brett’s mouth is warm and soft and so, so good. Brett has always been good. It’s just the way he is.

They can’t keep doing this in MSG, but Brayden doesn’t want to stop. He wraps his fingers around Brett’s tie—blue and white—and holds him there, for Brayden’s kisses.

“Don’t leave,” Brett says against Brayden’s mouth, and it sounds pleading.

There’s an unspoken _yet_ in there, but both of them pretend not to hear it.

“I won’t.”

Brayden has to pull back for a moment to breathe, and he adds, “As long as I get to do that more often than just after our games.”

“Yeah,” Brett says, smiling. “Definitely, yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> ++1.
> 
> Brayden doesn’t put another ring on Brett’s finger for a while, and even then, it’s white-gold instead of black. He slides it onto the fourth finger of Brett’s right hand, and then he lifts Brett’s hand and presses his lips to the cool surface of the ring, just like he’s wanted to for years. It feels just as cheesy as he thought it’d be.
> 
> It’s okay. He thinks he’s allowed to be cheesy on this day of all days.
> 
> “That’s gay,” Brett whispers before the priest tells him he can kiss his husband.
> 
>  
> 
> For Brayden helping Brett get drafted to the Lightning, he [really did that](https://www.nhl.com/lightning/news/brayden-point-gives-assist-to-brett-howden-in-helping-impress-lightning/c-887802)


End file.
